Now
by spicehnoodles
Summary: Beth was done surviving. She wanted to live. Alexandria was the only the beginning of it.


_— Sort of a companion to _Survivin', If Not More_, though not necessary to read it._

* * *

Deanna smiled at her. The lens of the video camera was unnerving to see.

Beth didn't smile back.

"What's your name, honey?"

_"Some type a' all-knowin' bitch, 's all. Ain't that bad, just answer her questions and she'll be off your ass," _Daryl had said.

She knew he was just outside the door, and if it were possible, he'd be sitting right next to her. She wished she were inside with him once it was his turn to "audition." After a few minutes, he exited and couldn't keep still, pacing around with his hand gripping firmly onto his crossbow. He pulled her close and said he'd be right outside if anything happens.

Swallowing down her reluctance, she replied, "Beth … Greene."

Deanna nodded. "How old are you, Beth?"

There were a lot of things that mattered in this world, but Beth knew this wasn't one of them. "Old enough."

The elder woman leaned forward, elbows resting on her knees and hands clasped loosely together. That subtle action explained Daryl's description of her.

"You look very young, that's why. What'd you do before?"

Beth shrugged slightly. "I attended school just like any other teenager," she said. "I went to church and hung out with friends."

"Church, huh? Were you a part of the youth committees?" Deanna asked, curiosity as clear as day.

Beth wondered if the woman spent so much time asking the others about their own past life. She wondered if she asked what they did after the turn and before they caught Aaron.

She stared at the woman through the eyes. "Choir."

Deanna smiled. "You sing?"

"I do."

"Can I hear a sample?"

Beth took in a deep breath, eyes never averting from the woman's. "Why aren't you askin' me about the scars on my face? Why aren't you askin' me how many walkers I killed? How many — How many _people _I killed? Why aren't you askin' me the questions you _need _to know? The questions that will determine whether or not I passed this … interview?"

Deanna sighed. She leaned back against the cushions but never once losing that analytical look in her eyes.

"If those are the questions you want me to ask, then so be it," she said. "I'm a people person, Beth. I know people; I told Rick that I was a congresswoman and I wouldn't have been one if I weren't a good judge of character. I know you're a good person. That's why I'm asking you what you did before all of this. I want to know your roots, not what you had to go through."

"That doesn't make any sense," Beth argued. "The past is the past. You're trying to know the person I was from _before_, not who I am now, who I had to become. _That's _who you need to know. I'm not the girl who went to school and church, attended parties with friends, and baked cupcakes with her mom every Saturday morning. I'm not the girl who _cries_. I'm the girl who survived and made it."

Deanna stared at her for a while. She narrowed her eyes at her as if attempting to change the lens she was viewing Beth with.

Finally, the older woman agreed, "I know. I know we all had to become something different. To survive in this world. I know I had to. I know I had to make some difficult choices. In your eyes, I can see a girl who survived, yes, and had to make some difficult choices as well.

"But … I also see a girl who still retains innocence. I still see the teenager, the one that went to church and sang and baked cupcakes with her mother — "

Beth shook her head, stopping the woman from speaking. _What is this, a therapy session? _"No, I am not innocent. Don't mistake what you see in my eyes for innocence. I killed three people." She thought of Gorman and how she smashed his head with the jar of lollipops. She couldn't deny it anymore. "I killed … four people because I had to."

Deanna nodded as if she understood. She didn't, and she had no right to look "all-knowing." She wasn't supposed to know her entire life story and act as if she knew everything about her. It was crossing boundaries, and frankly, it was making Beth uncomfortable.

These were words she never had to verbalize. Daryl knew. Hell, the rest of the group probably knew she had to make choices at the hospital. But she was finally saying it, and it was making her tense because this wasn't how she wanted to confess her sins. She needed Daryl with her, but the truth was out and she can't stop anymore. She needed to prove something to this woman. She needed to prove that she wasn't a dead girl.

She wanted to finally show someone who she really was because she knew her family wouldn't believe her.

"You had to," Deanna affirmed. "You didn't want to, but you had to. It was either you or them. And _that's _what makes you so innocent, Beth."

"You don't get it," Beth snapped. "It's not innocence; it's _humanity_. It's _guilt_. It's _survival_. None of us are innocent now.

"You say you're a good judge of character. You're not. You assumed I was that teenager trapped inside just waiting to come out, who viewed everything as good. I'm not that teenager; she's long gone — ever since her mom and her brother died." _Ever since she tried to kill herself. _"I know there're still good people, though. Sometimes it's hard to believe, but there _are _still good people. That's _hope_, not innocence. I have my family, my hope, my faith, and myself, my _humanity_. But I _don't _have that innocence or that naïve way of thinking. So don't you _dare _say that I'm innocent because that's insultin'. That's insinuatin' that I am incapable of adaptin' to this world we live in now, that I'm incapable of doin' my part or makin' it in this world."

It was quiet between the two women in the room. Slowly, Deanna turned around turned off the video camera. She smiled yet again at Beth, and this time, Beth knew that her lens toward her was permanent.

Still, though, she retained that all-knowing look as if the older woman somehow knew Beth was going to say that.

"You're a strong woman, Beth," Deanna commented. "I admit, I didn't believe it at first, not that you weren't strong but that you weren't capable of doing what Rick and Daryl could, and I wish I could say it was _mainly _because of you that I view you differently, but, well, I'm going to assume the relationship you have with him is deep and intimate."

Daryl. Beth knew she was talking about Daryl.

"He said that I better not ask the wrong questions with you. I asked him to clarify — what questions should I not ask with you? He merely said that you're tough and you saved yourself."

Unconsciously, a smile flitted across her lips.

From that, Beth knew that she didn't need to prove anything to Daryl. He knew in his grumpy little ways. It warmed her heart, and she yearned to see him and embrace his presence.

Deanna's eyes softened. "You're a strong woman," she repeated. "So far, you're the only one who smiled. It's rare to find someone doing that especially one from outside. Daryl was close, but I couldn't figure out for sure because he rushed out before I was done."

Once Deanna was done psychoanalyzing her, Beth instantly left the building. Daryl stood upright from the porch railing he was leaning against. She remained quiet and began walking to the mansions assigned to them.

Just as quiet, Daryl trailed after her, warm presence strong behind her.

At night, Beth smiled when a clean-shaven Rick deposited Judith in the crib. She leaned over it and began caressing her cheek until Judith fell asleep. Daryl was sitting behind her and scooted to the side to for her to sit down.

Beth laid her head on his shoulder once she did.

Everybody was on edge. It was understandable. Michonne was right in voicing her opinion that they needed a place to stay, a place to _be_. She wasn't afraid to agree with her and mention Judith's well-being. They had a right to remain suspicious, but they also had the right to hope and fuel that hope by taking a chance. Beth had a good feeling about these people, and despite her interaction with Deanna, Beth knew she was a good person who was trying to do some good and trying to make do with this world by _living_ in it.

Taking away their weapons was a huge warning signal, though. Beth kept her knife with her, and nobody could part Daryl Dixon from his crossbow. What made her smile and feel content was that everybody else kept some weapons too, some hidden.

They wanted a safe place to live, but they still had their doubts and were prepared for what was to come. They had been through tons of tribulations together and individually. They were strong because they were together, as a whole, as a _family_.

Although Beth still hadn't found her place with her family, she still thought of them _as _her family. She shared the same thoughts about this "safe zone," and that fact somehow made her feel like she did have a place. All in all, they were in this together.

Daryl wore a fresh shirt with the sleeves ripped off and his vest. His hair was damp, and he smelled like soap. The dirt and grime was long gone, allowing her to see more of him.

Beth bumped her shoulder with his. "Someone smells nice," she remarked.

He leaned forward and placed his nose on the side of her neck, inhaling. The action didn't startle her — they had slowly gotten intimate with one another — but it still affected her everywhere.

Once he was done, he said, "Finally."

She rolled her eyes, smiling. Her hand went up and brushed stray hairs that were blocking his blue eyes.

"You need a haircut. Maybe you can ask Jessie if she can cut your hair just like she did with Rick's." Beth glanced at Rick who was speaking with Michonne in low tones. "He looks similar to the Rick that arrived at the farm … "

Daryl snorted. "Hell no. Ain't havin' some random-ass woman with sharp scissors near me." He then paused. "You do it."

"I've never cut anybody's hair before."

"Just needs a little trimmin'."

"You trust me with sharp scissors near your neck?" she asked, laughing quietly.

"Yeah."

She beamed at that and resumed to lean her head on his shoulder again. "Tomorrow mornin'. I'll bring the sharpest scissors."

He lightly pinched her side, and she squirmed away.

This newfound intimacy with each other made Beth so happy and comfortable. She didn't know where her relationship with Daryl was heading, but she loved the journey so far. Although they hadn't spoken that much about what happened, they were fine.

But she knew they had to talk eventually. She knew she had to let out what needed to come out. What she said to Deanna was not even half of what she needed to release.

Later on that night, Beth couldn't sleep. She wasn't surprised. Her entire body was on edge. Even though she was determined to give this place a chance, it didn't mean all her instincts and suspicions would just turn off.

Abandoning her spot next to Maggie, Beth peeled off her blanket and quietly exited the house.

Predictably he was outside, smoking a cigarette. Beth watched the smoke blend with the fresh air before taking her place right next to him, forearm to forearm.

The peacefulness and silence caused uneasiness to form at the pit of her stomach; however, the presence of the man next to her prevented her from freaking out and giving into the paranoia.

"It was like Dawn all over again," Beth murmured.

Daryl inhaled, listening.

"I kept tryin' to prove to Deanna that I was strong, that I made it … I did the same to Dawn when she said I wasn't strong and pointed out my scar as if it defined who I was." One of her hands gripped around the porch column. "I don't know why I keep doin' that, provin' my worth to people who don't see it especially when … _they_ don't."

This time, he spoke, "They do. They just don't see it clearly."

She let out a hum in response.

"You don't gotta prove yourself to anyone, all right? Bein' yourself is enough proof."

She smiled and released her grip on the column. She proceeded to wrap her arms around his right one and lean her head against his shoulder once again.

"I don't wanna get my hopes up high," she said. "But we need to live, Daryl."

He grunted at that.

"I know you feel out of place the most, but just know that I'm here."

The cigarette fell on the floor, and he put it out with his boot. He leaned even more against her and observed their surroundings in this all-too quiet night.

When she felt her eyelids drooping close, the last words she heard was, "I'm here too, Beth."

* * *

_— This has been in my documents for a while now. I thought I'd post it for you guys._

_Thank you for reading. Feedback is appreciated._


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